I had drinks with a friend last night after work. We met to swap war stories and catch up on life. She’s a newer friend but a human that I liked nearly the second I met her. You know when you meet someone and you just know, almost immediately? That was this person. And, I feel lucky.
And so, our conversation really ran the gamut. We gave each other advice and provided solace and made each other laugh. We talked about our personal and professional lives.
Cute, right? I guess I should get to the point.
Part of our conversation was sharing sexual harassment stories. Yup. You read that right. And yes, I’ve written about this before. And yes, I’m going to write about it again.
Why? Well, because it doesn’t ever stop stinging. Because it’s meaningful. Because I’m particularly pissed off in light of all of these antiquated, fucked up laws being passed that effectively assert control over women and their bodies.
I have a fairly simple question: why does anyone think that men are better than women?
I mean it. I want to know. I’m not asking that sarcastically. I really want to understand what the thought process is. Is it because we harken back to the stone ages when “men” beat their chests and went out and hunted food to bring back to the women?
Is it because someone created this narrative that we are the fairer sex and that was it, forever more?
What is it?
I don’t want to get into a whole bit where I describe how women have babies and then raise babies and though I haven’t done it, I can acknowledge that alone makes women tough as shit. But yeah, there’s that. I mean, it’s so much more than that. WE are so much more than that.
I’m not going to get into a long-winded explanation because I think that actually belittles women everywhere. Truly. Why do I need to explain? Do men explain why they are the barometer? Can they clearly articulate why they are “better” and deserving of autonomy when we, as women, are not?
Either way. Any which way. I’m pissed off. I am having a no good, very bad, terrible day. I am grumpy as shit. A lot of people did a lot of little things that made me feel itchy. The kind of itchy that doesn’t go away until you close your eyes and pray to a higher power that you just wake up when it’s a new day and things feel marginally better.
It doesn’t matter why I had a day, only that I did, and that only matters because it sets a stage. It provides context. It allows you to understand why I feel supremely grumpy about it all, even after a lovely evening with my new friend.
I’m tired of swapping these stories, and not because I don’t like the sharing part. The sharing makes it better. It does. It’s horrific to hear that someone else has suffered in the same way that you have, but also, there’s a certain solidarity. There’s a part of you that feels less alone when someone, some woman, tells you that they’ve experienced something similar or even, worse.
I just don’t understand. Can’t we revolt? Is there just too much shit to care about that we can’t seem to pull it together to shift this particular paradigm?
Let me back up for a moment to share a very specific part of the conversation between me and my friend.
We both agreed that the reason that these situations, these scenarios, are particularly horrific, is because they are a no win for women. I know, what does that even mean? What could possibly be a win for women in a sexual harassment scenario? It’s not what you think.
What I mean is that usually people won’t believe the woman, or downplay the situation, or convince her that it would just make things messy or uncomfortable to do something about it. And if she still dares move forward with reporting it and even if she has her company behind her, there is a strong likelihood that she will be branded forever more. She will from that point on be seen as the woman who made things uncomfortable for everyone else.
Truly.
Forget her discomfort. It’s irrelevant. Think of the men around her. Think of the man who was just trying to make an innocent joke and was so misunderstood. Think of how uncomfortable her colleagues will now be around her, trying to avoid saying anything that could offend her fragile sensibilities.
Give me a fucking break.
Who cares? I mean really. And please, for the love of God, do not tell me that this has something to do with the overly PC society we are all living in at present. Don’t tell me that this is just women being uber sensitive and not being able to take a joke. I have a great sense of humor. It’s not funny when you are objectified. It’s not cute when you are made uncomfortable because you have certain genitalia. It’s not flattering or lovely or anything other than skin crawling ick.
There are lines and they don’t need to be crossed. And the thing is, I think that most people know where those lines are, generally, and choose to ignore them. Most men (some women, yes) who engage in inappropriate behavior know that it’s not cool and do it anyway. They do it anyway because they feel emboldened. They feel empowered by court cases that paint women as wanting cock teases and men as maligned puppies. They are made stronger by a system that doesn’t know how to protect women without painting them as brainless, needy dolls.
Am I saying all women are amazing? No. Absolutely not. There are some shitty women out there, for sure. No question. Also, not all women are victims, even those who claim to be. We know this. There is no such thing as an absolute. I’m just saying that of my decent sized circle, I don’t know a single woman who hasn’t endured this garbage. And it exhausts me. And right now, I’m super duper done with it.
Really.
I know we have a lot to work through these days, but this seems like low hanging fruit. Just let a gal work in peace.
X
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 